To hear the bombshells bursting and the thundering battle's roar,
He said: "The breach they're mounting, the Dutchman's murdering crew--
I'll try my hammer on their heads and see what that can do !" "Now, swarthy Ned and Moran, make up that iron well ;
'Tls Sarsfield's horse that wants the shoes, so mind not shot or shell."
"Ah, sure," cried both, "the horse can wait-- for Sarsfield's on the wall,
And where you you go we'll follow, with you to stand or fall !" The blacksmith raised his hammer, and rushed into the street,
His 'prentice boys behind him, the ruthless foe to meet--
High on the breach of Llmerick, with dauntless hearts they stood,
Where the bombshells burst and shot fell thick and redly ran the blood, "Now, look, you brown-haired Moran, and mark you, swarthy Ned ;
This day we'll prove the thickness of many'a Dutchman's head !
Hurrah ! upon their bloody path they're mounting gallantly ;
And now the first that tops the breach, leave him to this and me !" The first that gained the rampart, he was a captain brave !
A captain of the Grenadiers, with blood stained dirk and glaive ;
He pointed and he parried, but it was all in vain,
For fast through skull and helmet the hammer found his brain ! The next that topped the rampart, he was a colonel bold,
Bright through the murk of battle, his helmet flashed with gold.
"Gold is no match for iron," the doughty blacksmith said,
As with that ponderous hammer he cracked his foeman's head ! "Hurrah for gallant Limerick !" black Ned and Moran cried,
As on the Dutchmen's leaden heads their hammers well they plied ;
A bombshell burst between them--one fell without a groan,
One leaped into the lurid air, and down the breach was thrown ! "Brave smith ! brave smith !" cried Sarsfield, "beware the treacherous mine--
Brave smith ! brave smith ! fall backward, or surely death is thine ;"
The smith sprang up the rampart, and leaped the blood-stained wall,
As high into the shuddering air went foeman, breach, and all ! Up like a red volcano they thundered wild and high,
Spear, gun, and shattered standard, and foe nion through the sky ;
And dark and bloody was the shower that round the blacksmith foil--
He thought upon his 'prentice boys, they were avenged well ! On foemen and defenders a silence gathered down,
'Twas broken by a triumph shout that shook the ancient town ;
As out its heroes sallied, and bravely charged and slow,
And taught King William and his man what Irish hearts can do ! Down rushed the swarthy blacksmith unto the river side,
He hammered on the foes' pontoon, to sink it in the tide ;
The timbeor it was tough and strong, it too no crack or strain--
"Me Oron, 't won't break," the blacksmith roared, "I'll try their head's again." The blacksmith sought his smithy, and blew his bellows strong ;
He shod the steed of Sarsfield, but o'er it sang no song ;
"Ochone ! my boys are dead" he cried !" their loss I'll long deplore,
But comfort's in my heart--their graves are red with foreign gore !" R. D. Joyce. Notes From the NSW Newspaper The Catholic Press 30 Apr 1908 p. 31.